


Father's Day

by Aithilin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Paternal Lestrade, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 15:08:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1783450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock rarely gave these sorts of social holidays any thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Father's Day

Mycroft was the one who handled the details of the things. Flowers and gifts and cards sent on Mother’s Day, calls prompted or excuses made during every other holiday. Father’s Day was no different; two cards— one with a forged signature— would be sent to the house, along with whatever appropriately modest gift he had approved this year (Mycroft never went to the shops, of course. He simply sent an aide or intern out with vague instructions).

But the notion of remembering and honouring holidays were Mycroft’s domain. Sherlock usually remember to call at some point during the nearest week.

But two years away from a semblance of family— away from any sort of trustworthy figure— had left a certain impact on Sherlock. He found himself noting the dates more and more often.

But he had forgotten about this little social holiday. At least until Mary dragged him out to the shops and “recruited” his help in selecting John’s Father’s Day gift.

"It’s important," she said, as she pulled him through row after row of ridiculous suggested gifts. "It’s his first Father’s Day, and he needs a special gift."

Nothing that could possibly be found labelled with ‘best seller” tags and a card that involved singing kittens. Sherlock was certain of that. “He’s going to know it’s from you.”

"That’s not the point. It’s a gift."

"He needs a new computer."

"It’s impersonal, Sherlock. It has to be… I’ll know it when I see it."

"Can you see it quickly? I’m sure I have better things to do than be dragged through London by you."

"As if you ever do anything this fun." Mary clattered happily, aware that she had lost his attention. Every so often she would prod an opinion out of him, and pull him along.

In the end, it was Sherlock who found the perfect gift. It wasn’t for John. A little set of cuff links matched with a tie pin, already done up in a box with a bow. With Mary watching on, he bought it.

"Your father doesn’t wear things like that." She said as they left the shops a few hours later; him carrying bags and she examining his single purchase. "It’s not his style."

"Don’t." Was all he managed. He helped her set out the gifts for John before he left.

He didn’t go to Baker Street.

"Actually knocking, sunshine?" Lestrade smiled as he answered his door, dressed down for the night and still awake despite the long hours of the day. His hands were still smudged from the runny ink of his favourite pen, and his hair dishevelled from mussing it in frustration as he poured over a case. Still, he opened his home to Sherlock with a smile. "Come in, come in. You know your way, lad."

Sherlock had stopped along the way—added to his gift. No card, but a business card and fitting appointment with the tailor he preferred.

He set everything out without a word.

"What’s this?"

"Your Father’s Day gift. I’ve bee. Told it’s a good practice to have these things ready for the actual occasion."

"You got me a gift?"

"Of course."

"You have a dad, Sherlock."

"And you’ve always treated me like a son. Even though you lost your own."

He didn’t expect the hug he got in return, or the fierceness of it.

Sherlock didn’t expect to return it just as fiercely, or clutching Lestrade tight.

He didn’t expect the world to stop as Lestrade muttered: “thanks, sunshine.”


End file.
